


Inglorious Basterd

by ginger_mosaic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Killed Hitler, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s12e05 The One You've Been Waiting For, Gen, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e05 The One You've Been Waiting For, Season/Series 12, and he won't shut up about it, episode coda, season 12 coda, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_mosaic/pseuds/ginger_mosaic
Summary: Dean Winchester killed Hitler, and everyone has to know.In his elation, some other things that everyone has to know slip out, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was flipping through my notebook and I totally forgot I wrote this. Thought I'd post it before the season starts up again.

 

They pull into a motel parking lot as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, and Dean shuts off the car, still grinning. There’s an entire pie sitting next to him, in addition to the two slices warming up his stomach, and he killed Hitler.

Oh, did he neglect to mention that? He killed Hitler.

God, he’ll never get sick of those words.

“I killed Hitler,” he says again, aloud, because the words just sound so damn nice together. Has there ever been another phrase that has sounded as sweet? Unlikely.

Sam sighs loudly in the passenger’s seat and wrenches the car door open. Dean laughs, but Sam just flips him off, grabs his duffle from the back seat, and stomps over to the motel office. Best. Day. Ever. Sam is pissy (always hilarious), Dean is having pie for dinner, and he killed Hitler.

While Sam gets a room, Dean parks near the corner of the building and gets his bag and then reaches for the pie on the front bench. He balances it on one hand, and it’s warm on his palm while he locks up Baby and then pats her lovingly.

“I killed Hitler, Baby,” he tells her in a whisper. “Daddy killed Hitler.”

“Oh my God,” says Sam from behind him. “Are you bragging to the _car_ now?”

Dean pats Baby twice more. “Don’t listen to him,” he tells her. “He’s just jealous.”

Sam groans loudly and tilts his head back to implore the sky. Ain’t nothing up there listening though, and some days that might bother Dean, but today it’s okay, because today Dean killed Hitler.

Sam stomps to the room and then through its door while Dean hums behind him. He sets the pie and the Impala’s keys on the small breakfast table near the door and then dumps his duffle on the bed that Sam didn’t claim with his own bag. He looks around the room and rubs his stomach absently thinking that something’s missing, and then it hits him.

“Hey, Sam,” he says, “wanna go get some beer for the man who killed Hitler?”

Sam snorts. “Dude. Seriously. When are you going to stop? What, do you want me to get you a medal or something?”

Dean shrugs. “I mean, it’s the least you could do. I _did_ kill Hitler.”

“Oh my God,” says Sam, and he practically throws himself back out the door.

There’s a liquor store right across the street, so he won’t be gone long. Dean doesn’t know what to do with all this energy he has, so he paces up and down the room a few times, and then he jumps into the shower to take the hottest, most relaxing shower he’s had in a long time (even though the water pressure can’t compare to the bunker’s) and while he’s at it, he gives himself a hand and the best orgasm he’s had in weeks.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Sam is still gone, but there’s a six-pack of beer on the table next to the pie. Dean frowns and checks his phone, and sure enough, there are two messages from Sam.

_went for a walk. let me know when it’s safe to come in._

_jerk._

Dean snorts and types out a message back: _all done. bitch._

Sam’s reply comes immediately: _UGH. ok on my way. want some real food to go with your pie?_

_pie is real food_ , Dean texts back, and then he sets his phone aside to fish some fresh clothes out of his bag. When Sam gets back, he’s got the TV on some action movie about aliens and is almost finished with his first beer. Sam rolls his eyes at him and sets what looks like a take-out salad on the table. He cracks open his own beer and takes a long swig before he says anything.

“Comfortable?” Sam grumbles.

Dean grins around the mouth of his beer bottle. “Couldn’t be more, unless this place has magic fingers.”

“Good, well, stay right where you are,” Sam says, pulling out his phone. “I’m gonna call Aaron and tell him what happened.”

Dean immediately sits up. _Aaron_. Yes, they should definitely update him. Dean pushes himself off the bed, and Sam shoots him an annoyed frown that Dean ignores. He finishes off his beer and sits down, grabbing a second one from the pack. It’s getting dark, too, so he pulls his pie toward him and opens it up, releasing the delicious aroma of apple and cinnamon.

“Hey, Aaron,” Sam says into his phone.

“Put it on speaker,” Dean says, carefully lifting the pie from the box and grabbing one of the wrapped white plastic forks that the waitress at the diner had tucked next to the pie.

Sam bitchfaces at him, but he presses the icon on his phone screen and sets the phone down on the table.

“Hey, Aaron,” Sam tries again, “you’re on speaker.”

“Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” Aaron grumbles over the phone.

“Sorry, man, just wanted to give you a quick update,” says Sam. “We found the Thule and—”

Dean can’t hold it in anymore. “You’re welcome,” he says, cutting in loudly, to make sure Aaron can hear him.

Sam purses his lips and Aaron says, “Uh… what?”

“I killed Hitler,” Dean announces loudly, smirking. “ _You’re welcome_.”

Aaron’s stunned silence lasts a long time. He’s probably suitably impressed. “Uh… Thanks?” he says at last. “Sam?”

Sam sighs. “The Thule were trying to resurrect Hitler with that pocket watch, which contained his soul, and the blood—hence, _das Blud_ —of one of his descendants.”

“Yeah, those Tools—”

Aaron sighs. “ _Thules_ , Dean.”

“I know what I said.”

Sam shoots him a glare and continues. “They found this girl who’s apparently descended from him. Ellie Grant. And they got ahold of her and used her blood to put Hitler’s soul in one of the Thule guys—”

“And then I shot him,” says Dean. “You’re welcome.”

Aaron is silent again for a while. “Wow,” he says at last. “Holy shit. Great job, guys.”

Dean nods and sits backs with his beer and his pie. “Well, you know. All in a day’s work.”

“Any chance someone could try again?” asks Aaron.

“Not with the same method,” Sam tells him. “As far as we know, the guy’s only got one soul.”

“Yeah, and I killed him,” says Dean, through a mouthful of warm pie. “He’s good and dead.”

Sam shoots him an impatient look, which only makes Dean grin again.

Aaron sighs loudly over the phone. “Yes, Dean, I heard you the first time.”

“Help me,” Sam pleads.

“Guys, come on,” says Dean, playing up his annoyance. He’s too happy to really care that they’re both being wet blankets. “You gotta give me something here. I killed Hitler. I’m a goddamn hero.”

“And when I get back to the States, I’ll give you a congratulatory blow job,” says Aaron, and Dean chokes on his beer and glares at the phone while Sam bursts into laughter. “In the meantime, I’m going to get back to sleep and continue to hunt down these guys in the morning.”

“I’ll send you the names and descriptions of the guys we got,” says Sam.

“Sounds great,” says Aaron, groaning. “Good night.”

He hangs up, and Sam snickers and glances up at Dean.

“You gonna take him up on his offer?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Dean hides a blush behind a sip of beer. “Man, I killed Hitler,” Dean repeats, just in case Sam forgot what a hero Dean is and how much respect he should be showing him. “I think _everyone_ should get down on their knees and blow me.”

“No thanks,” says Sam, opening up his dumb salad.

“Ew, not _you_ ,” says Dean, throwing his fork wrapper across the table so it lands in Sam’s salad. “Gross, Sam.”

Sam wrinkles his nose and picks the plastic out of his salad. Dean doesn’t know why; it would taste the same as everything else in there anyway.

Dean picks at his pie and sort of wishes he had never told Sam that Aaron was “my gay thing.” Not in those words anyway. Why is he such an idiot with words sometimes?

It’s kind of put a dampener on his mood, which sucks because killing Hitler was pretty awesome. Usually he might go out and celebrate with drinks and a lay, but he has the feeling that “I killed Hitler” isn’t going to work as a pick-up line. Sam is right, no one is ever going to believe him _except_ Sam.

And—

Dean quickly digs his phone out of his pocket and swipes it open.

“What are you doing?” asks Sam, looking up from his salad.

“Calling Mom,” says Dean, typing out a quick text so she’ll hopefully pick up. _hey, Mom, im gonna call, got some exciting news_. He presses her contact name and the phone rings three times before she picks up.

“Hi, Dean,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, and Sam catches his eye and throws his hands out a little, so Dean says, “Hold on, Sammy is here too. I’ll put you on speaker.”

He echoes Sam’s movements from the call with Aaron, and Sam says, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Sammy,” says Mary. “So what’s going on? Dean said he had news?”

“Yeah,” says Dean, “Sam and I were—” But he falters. Shit. They were on a hunt. She wouldn’t like that, would she?

“Hunting?” Mary suggests. “It’s okay, Dean. What was it?”

Dean glances up at Sam, who shrugs, so he powers on. “We were after these guys from the Thule Society—some Nazi necromancers, basically. They were trying to resurrect Hitler, and, uh, they did, but we got there in time to catch them and—Mom, I punched Hitler in the face,” he tells her, giddiness rising again. “Knocked him right the fuck out. And then I shot him, and _I killed Hitler_.”

Mary is quiet for a long time. Then: “I’m sorry. _Hitler?_ ”

“Yup,” says Dean. “Hitler. I killed Hitler.”

“That’s…” She huffs out what might be a laugh. “Honey, that’s… amazing.”

“Right?” says Dean with a laugh, a little relieved. “It feels _awesome_. Like, how many people can say that?”

“You and Hitler,” says Sam, still eating his rabbit food. “He killed himself the first time.”

“Man, even Captain America never killed Hitler,” Dean muses, leaning back in his chair again. “He just punched him a hundred times. I punched him _and_ shot him _and_ killed him. Dude,” he says, looking up at Sam in wide-eyed awe, “I’m, like, twice as awesome as Captain America.”

“Captain America?” asks Mary. “Like from the comic books?”

Oh man. His mom knows comic books. “Oh, you gotta see the movies, Mom,” Dean tells her. “They’re awesome. You’ll like that guy who plays Captain America. Whatshisname.”

“Chris Evans,” Sam supplies.

Dean snaps his fingers. “Yeah, him. The second movie’s the best though, it’s got Scarlett Johansson in it a ton.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” says Mary, sounding amused. “What about you, Sam? Did you do anything exciting?”

Sam shifts. “I, uh, was mostly focused on making sure Ellie was all right. They took a lot of her blood to resurrect the guy.”

“Yeah, totally missed his chance to kill Hitler,” says Dean, grinning. “I did that. I killed Hitler.”

Sam groans and leans forward to rest his forehead on the table next to his salad.

“Sam’s jealous,” Dean explains. “Because I killed Hitler.”

“Mom, make him stop,” Sam whines.

Mary actually laughs. “Dean, be nice to your brother.”

“I’m nice,” says Dean, reaching over to pour beer over Sam’s salad. Sam sits up quickly, smacking Dean’s hand aside.

“Jerk!” says Sam.

“Sam,” says Mary disapprovingly.

“He’s pouring beer on my salad!” Sam tells her, smacking Dean’s arm again when he moves to do it once more.

“It’s salad dressing, Sam,” says Dean, and Mary snickers. “Anyway, Mom, we’ll let you go. Just wanted to share some good news.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” she says. “You can call any time, okay?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“Congratulations on killing Hitler, Dean,” says Mary, a laugh in her voice. She’s probably smiling, and Dean feels a pang in his chest. He would give anything to see it.

Her next words are just as good though: “I’m real proud of you, sweetie.”

Dean blinks down at the phone and then can’t stop the grin from breaking out on his face. “Thanks, Mom,” he says.

“Good night, you two. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom,” says Dean, and he presses the button to hang up and goes back to his pie, smirking. When he looks up, Sam is giving him an odd look. “What?”

Sam shakes his head and looks down at his beer-soaked salad. “Nothing, man.”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever.” Then he sits up straight again and grabs his phone, grinning. “I’m gonna call Cas.”

Sam frowns. “Cas?”

“Yeah, he’ll get a kick out of this.” Dean dials and then grabs his beer and uses the bottle to push his pie toward Sam, who is looking forlornly at his ruined salad, because Dean can be magnanimous in his victory. Sam looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, and Dean nods and winks and stands up with his phone to his ear and beer in hand.

The phone rings a few times, and then he gets Cas’s voicemail message: _Hey, you’ve reached the voicemail of Castiel_ , Dean’s own voice echoes back to him. _Press one to leave a prayer, two for questions about bees, or leave a message after the beep to ask what it’s like to dress like a Walmart greeter_.

“Cas, pick up your phone,” Dean groans after the beep, and he hangs up, disappointed. “Jackass,” he mutters, falling back down onto the bed he’s claimed. Sam snorts but doesn’t say anything while he digs in to the other half of Dean’s pie. Dean hasn’t been able to eat an entire pie by himself since his twenties anyway.

He’s about to settle in to watch TV again, though he’s still considering going out, because with confidence like this, he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to do _better_ with the ladies, when his phone blares out the opening chords of _Ramble On._ When he looks, Cas’s name is on the screen. He flings his arm out to grab his phone from where it sits on the night stand and answers.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Cas. “I apologize for not answering earlier. Crowley was…” He takes a deep breath and releases it in a long-suffering sigh.

“Being an irritating piece of shit?” Dean suggests.

“Yes,” says Cas firmly. “He’s gone now, though. I sent him away.”

It’s probably too hopeful to interpret that as meaning Cas killed Crowley. “Man, I can’t believe you’re working with him again,” says Dean. “You do remember what happened last time, right? I know you got a little,” he makes a gesture at his own head that he knows Cas can’t see, “futzed up brain-wise,” he decides, “but I hope you didn’t forget.”

“Crowley may be irritating and untrustworthy, but he could also be useful in finding Lucifer,” says Cas. “I’m being careful,” he adds when Dean grunts his disapproval. “How are you, Dean?” Cas asks then, in a clear change of subject. “Why did you call?”

“Right,” says Dean, and he grins as he remembers. “Well, while you were running around with Crowley, guess what I did over my summer vacation.”

Cas’s puzzled frown is practically audible, and it just makes Dean grin wider. “Dean, it’s not summer.”

“It’s an expression, Cas,” says Dean. “Whatever, you’ll never guess.” Dean sits up slightly against the headboard of the motel bed and gets himself comfortable, stretching his legs out in front of him, and then, smirking smugly, he says, “I killed Hitler.”

Like everyone else, Cas pauses for a long time before speaking, and Dean just basks in the awed shock.

Then Cas says: “Dean, I know I experience time differently as an angel, but I’m fairly certain Adolf Hitler died seventy years ago by his own hand, unless you are speaking of a different Hitler or have somehow time-travelled without the aid of an archangel—”

Dean laughs over him. “No, man, the Thule guys resurrected him and I punched Hitler in the face and then shot and killed him.”

“Oh,” says Cas. “In that case, congratulations, Dean.”

Dean grins. “Thanks.”

“That is very… cool.”

Dean laughs again. What a fucking dork. “Yeah, it was awesome. Me and Sammy found this girl, and she got nabbed by some Nazi sons of bitches…”

He recounts the entire hunt to Cas, only embellishing a bit on the big fight in the hangar because it all went by so fast, and he can’t really remember the minute details. All he remembers is the adrenaline rush and the pounding in his head yelling at him to protect Sammy, don’t let them get Sammy and Ellie, get to them first. Grabbing the gun from the fallen body, taking aim at the Nazis and firing and moving on as each one goes down, until only Hitler wearing the Father of the Year—the Fuhrer of the Year—is backing away and begging for mercy. Dean punches him and he goes down, and as he stands over him, Dean wonders how many people begged Hitler for mercy before he shoved them all in gas chambers. He thinks of Aaron and the golem and how hard people have to work for peace and how it all gets ruined when sons of bitches like Hitler come along and preach hate and scapegoating. He feels fiery righteous anger burn up the blood in his veins, and he points his stolen gun down at the man who would be Hitler.

“…And I was like, ‘Heil this, asshole,’ and I shot him right in the fuckin’ brain,” says Dean. “And that, my friend, is how you kill a Nazi zombie. You’re. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” says Cas, amusement coloring his tone. “I hope you burned the bodies as well.” He’s been commenting throughout Dean’s story, like he’s really listening. Sometimes Dean gets the feeling Cas doesn’t listen, but he’s been humming and asking questions and Dean feels a swell of pride again.

“No duh we did,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I killed Hitler. No way I’m letting that turn around on me somehow.”

“What about the girl?” asks Cas. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” says Dean, waving his hand. “Got her a blood transfusion and a juice box. She’ll live. We’ve all got some horror attached to our pasts, she’ll be fine.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “I’m glad to hear that, Dean,” he says after a pause. “It’s important to move forward.”

“Yup.”

“How are you doing?”

“Man, I feel like a million bucks. Got myself some pie and beer to celebrate, and later Sammy’s giving me a foot rub.”

“Hey, fuck you,” says Sam from the breakfast table, where he’s finished off the pie and is reading something on his phone. “Rub your own stinky feet.”

Dean snickers, and even Cas chuckles over the line. “All right, well, I’ll let you get back to fraternizing with the enemy,” says Dean.

Cas sighs heavily. “I think I would much rather be there, celebrating with you and Sam.”

“I’ll be sure to drink one on your behalf,” says Dean, grinning.

“Good night, Dean,” says Cas, sounding affectionately annoyed.

“G’night,” says Dean, something warm bubbling up in his chest, and he thinks it might be happiness, because he _did_ kill Hitler after all. “Love ya, buddy.

Cas makes a noise and there’s a clatter, like he dropped his phone. Spaz. “I—” He pauses. “I love you too, Dean,” he says at last.

Dean nods and hangs up, then tosses his phone back onto the night stand and reaches for the remote to turn up the TV again. He stops when he sees Sam staring at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Jeez, Sammy, if I’da known you were hungry enough to try to catch flies, I wouldn’ta ruined your salad,” says Dean, smirking and taking another sip of his beer. “There any more pie?”

Sam just keeps staring at him. Dean shifts and, frowning, glances around to see if maybe Hitler’s ghost is hanging around.

“What?” he demands when Sam doesn’t let up.

“Dude,” Sam chokes out, and then he clears his throat and tries again. “Did you… just tell Cas that you love him?”

The last half comes out in a laugh and with a disbelieving smile on Sam’s face, and Dean freezes. And then the heat rises to his face and he realizes and...

Oh, _shit_.

Sam laughs outright, and Dean jumps up from the bed with no idea what he’s doing.

“Dude,” says Sam, still laughing, and it’s building up into something raucous because Sam is a jackass.

Dean retreats to the bathroom, and he’s not _hiding_ , even though he’s already taken a shower, but fuck it, maybe he’ll take another one, a cold one this time, to battle the heat on his face, and Sam’s laughter follows him through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> It is my personal belief (and one I share with Jensen Ackles, if I remember correctly) that Dean just doesn't use the "L" word, but I figured that his mom could bring it out of him. ;)


End file.
